A Moment of Peace
by Inell13
Summary: A moment between the trio while at Shell Cottage. Trio relationship


Shell Cottage is a welcome escape from reality.

Here in this lovely cottage by the sea, it's difficult to remember war and death, torture and pain. The days have become weeks, and Hermione feels guilty for enjoying this brief respite from their task. People are being sent to Azkaban or killed every day. They need to figure out how to get into the Lestrange vault so they can move another step closer to ending this war. It's taking so long to finalize a plan, though, that she can't help but take advantage of the time to recover and regroup.

The experience at Malfoy Manor hurt her worse than she tells the boys. Bellatrix Lestrange used curses that she's never even heard of, much less understands, and she still feels pain occasionally in her right side that she sometimes thinks might never fade. The worst part is the nightmares. She hasn't been able to sleep properly since the torture, and the lack of sleep is delaying her responses and hindering her abilities to help plan.

The tension never goes away, though, and she fears the shadows in the dark room designated as hers during their stay at Shell Cottage. It's too quiet, even with Luna sharing it. It lacks the snoring and breathing that she's become used to in recent months, but she can't sneak into the boys' room. So she lies awake reading or goes out to sit by the rocks on the edge of the cliff to listen to the sea. The restlessness becomes worse as she physically heals from the torture; it's the mental aspects that concern her the most.

They won't stay here forever, so she knows she needs to figure out how to fix herself before it's time to leave. She refuses to become a hindrance to Harry regardless of how difficult it is right now to just be herself. Harry has become withdrawn since Dobby's death, the world even more on his shoulders than before, and Ron hovers around them both until she wants to scream for him to just stop. She doesn't, of course. He left them and now he's trying to make it up in his own way, which she can understand even if it is maddening.

"It's too dark to see anything out here."

The voice is low and sleepy and startles her from her thoughts. She glances behind her to see Harry and Ron standing in their pajamas, their feet bare and their hair disheveled. The light from the half moon above casts a faint glow around them but the shadows threaten to take them away.

"Too cold, too," Harry adds to Ron's earlier observation. He frowns as he steps closer. "Shouldn't be out here without a coat."

She looks down at her nightgown and then back up, blushing when she catches Ron staring in a way that makes her suddenly aware of the thin fabric and low neckline. The heat rushes through her cheeks when she notices that Harry, too, is staring. Despite the slight chill in the air, she isn't cold; in fact, now she feels rather warm. Confused, she blinks at him, and he suddenly looks away, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose as he looks out at the sea. Ron clears his throat and shifts awkwardly, obviously trying not to stare at her chest but failing miserably. It's endearing, in a way, even if she's embarrassed and uncertain.

"What are you doing out so late?" Ron asks, no longer sounding so sleepy. He nudges Harry with an elbow to the ribs and jerks his head towards her, silently communicating something in that way they have between them that she always envies. It doesn't matter that she shares a similar communication with each of them because she's not on the outside looking in during those exchanges.

"We've, uh, heard you sneaking out of your room before, for the last week, and we're worried," Harry says, obviously saying whatever they'd rehearsed before coming outside to confront her. God, how she loves them.

"Yeah, we are," Ron agrees, watching her reaction with a hesitancy that she's not seen since he returned to them a few months ago. "Shouldn't be awake this time of day. Just isn't right."

"You're awake," she points out softly, watching Ron's face as he frowns and looks at Harry, who rubs the back of his neck as he stares at her.

"Isn't the same," Harry finally says. "We'd be sleeping if you were."

"You were obviously awake to hear me leave my room for the last week."

"Oi, stop with the logic," Ron whines, scowling at her as he walks over to sit on the rock beside her. "We know your footsteps, alright? Woke up when we heard the door the first time."

"Realized it was habit instead of an exception when it happened the next night," Harry continues as he walks over and kneels on the ground at her feet, looking up at both her and Ron.

"Right. What he said."

She sighs and shakes her head. "You shouldn't worry. I just can't sleep, so I like to sit out here and listen to the sea."

Ron snorts. "Like we'd just stop worrying cause you say so." He tugs on her hair and then moves his arm behind her back. She looks at him out of the corner of her eyes and watches as he looks at Harry and then back at her several times. He finally puts his arm around her shoulders and hesitantly squeezes her shoulder. "That's something you can't boss us about, you know?"

"I don't----"

"Yes, you do," Harry interrupts her denial. She looks down at him and scowls; he knows she hates being interrupted. He smiles sheepishly and slowly reaches for her hand, holding it tentatively at first before his touch becomes more firm. "Ron's right, though. We won't stop worrying."

"I just can't sleep very well right now," she whispers, looking from Harry to Ron and back again. Ron's hand is still on her shoulder, squeezing lightly as he scoots closer to her. She can hear him breathing, heavier than usual, and he starts drawing little circles on her bare skin below the strap of her nightgown. Harry moves closer, too, and is soon resting his head on her lap while moving his thumb up and down her palm.

"Neither can we." Harry's admission is barely a whisper as he tightens his grip on her hand.

"Too many nightmares. And, well, you're not with us," Ron murmurs, ducking his head in the way that he does when he's self-conscious. She can't help but smile as she leans her head against his shoulder, listening as he inhales sharply before he shifts so that she's more comfortable. "And this helps?"

His voice is husky in a way that makes her feel things that she'll think about later, when she thinks about why her heart is racing when they look at her in I that /I way or touch her casually like this. For now, she feels at peace because they're with her, and she starts to relax as they hold her between them. She closes her eyes and listens to their breathing accompanying the sounds of the sea. "Yes, it helps. I You /i help."

End


End file.
